


Fortune's Fools

by fardareismai2



Series: What's Past Is Prologue [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blink And You Miss It Slash, Derek/Stiles pre-slash, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Gen, Graphic Description, Hints of Chris/Peter, No Onscreen Sex, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai2/pseuds/fardareismai2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Chris Argent is trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey; every knife, blade, taser, gun, and other weapon has already been removed from his person. His bare chest gleams with sweat and a shallow cut oozes sluggishly above his brow. His boxers are plaid, and the hairs of his legs are pale and shiny in the light. He’s never looked less like a hunter.</p><p>He’s never looked more like a terrified father."</p><p>Past and present collide. History isn't what anyone thinks it is. Neither is family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune's Fools

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been rattling around my head for a while now. I think I managed to make it fit within canon (barely), unless I've made a math error or we get retconned. This takes place post S3a, but at an indeterminate time. I've taken some artistic license with werewolf mythology because, frankly, they've left it all very ambiguous.
> 
> Huge thanks. HUGE. To MeraNaamJoker for betaing, hand holding, and general fuckawesomeness. This story simply would not exist without her. And to venis_envy for additional beta work, ego stroking, and never letting me forget my Keebler elf status.
> 
> There is one element (takes place offscreen) that may be triggery for some people, so see notes at the end.

 

 _Even someone as burned and dead on the inside as me knows better than to underestimate the simple, yet undeniable power, of human love._ — Peter Hale

 

It was almost too easy for him to lure them here. A dead deer, a fake trail, and like the hunters they’ve always been, always will be, they followed it to this abandoned gas station on the outskirts of town. The place is stark and empty. Anything that had been left behind has long since been scavenged. The windows are broken, all but the one that’s ironically displaying the “open” sign. 

The smell of gasoline still lingers, faint and cloying, but he doubts either of the humans can smell it. In any event, it’s nearly overpowered by the twin scents of fear and anger emanating from his captives. It’s a heady smell, one that feeds his wolf’s predatory nature; it makes the wolf eager, makes _him_ eager.

***********************

Her knee throbs where the werewolf dropped her with a well timed kick. The cuffs on her wrists and ankles are tight, digging into her skin and the bone and muscle beneath. All her weight is being supported by her other leg, and if it weren’t for his hand around her neck she would fall on her face, hobbled as she is. The grip on her throat is tight and unrelenting, and she wheezes, just shy of a desperate struggle to breathe. His breath is hot and damp against the back of her head, and the sharp tips of his claws just barely scrape her skin—so far.

“Please,” she begs. She knows she can’t fight her way out of this.

His chuckle is cruel and flat.

“Peter, don’t.” Her father’s voice cuts through the laughter, pleading. 

“Daddy!”

“Allison—”

“This is quite touching, really,” Peter taunts. He pulls Allison closer and whispers in her ear, “Just what do you think ‘Daddy’ is going to be able to do?”

And actually, he has a point. Chris Argent is trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey; every knife, blade, taser, gun, and other weapon has already been removed from his person. His bare chest gleams with sweat and a shallow cut oozes sluggishly above his brow. His boxers are plaid, and the hairs of his legs are pale and shiny in the light. He’s never looked less like a hunter.

He’s never looked more like a terrified father.

“Tell her, Chris. Tell her what you’re going to do.”

Chris jerks in his bonds.  Squirms and kicks and growls. “I’m going to k—”

The scent of anger spikes deliciously in the room. “Ah, ah, ah,” Peter admonishes, his fingers curling, claws pricking pale skin.

Chris goes slack in his bonds. “Peter, don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”

“Don’t I?” he spits. “Your family took _everything_ from me. My sister, brothers, my nieces and nephews.” He takes a ragged breath, “ _My wife_! I could hear them all you know? Hear their screams. Hear them over the sound of my own flesh sizzling.” Peter’s eyes close, lost in memory.

Allison draws a ragged breath and stares at her father, willing him to do something, anything. He’s her daddy, and no matter that she’s a hunter and a fighter, she’s _stuck_ and _helpless_ and she hates that, but her daddy always, always finds a way to help her.

Peter’s eyes open at the sound and he asks, “Do you know what it’s like to smell your flesh cooking? It’s not like a steak. It’s a sweeter smell. You don’t get that from the butcher. Just a nicely wrapped piece of meat. But people, when they burn, it’s their skin, their hair, their blood . . .” He laughs again. “When I was in the coma, I imagined the sweet smell was the children, that it was their innocence that gave off that scent, but it’s actually the smell of burning spinal fluid.

“You stop feeling it after a while. Burns that deep, that severe. At least, that’s what they say. There were humans in the house, so I really hope that’s true. But the thing is, when you’re a werewolf, your body keeps trying to heal, and you just keep burning, over and over and over.”

******************

_Derek watches his uncle flirt with the girl. She’s young, really young, maybe Derek’s age? His wolf’s age, at any rate. His human form is still a child, and his wolf can’t wait until his body hits puberty so everything gets caught up. Derek isn’t good at guessing human ages, but she doesn’t go to his school, and since there’s only one elementary school, he figures she goes to Beacon Hills Middle School._

_Age is different with wolves, with pack. Derek can smell the distinctions between babies and kids, newly shifted adolescents, adults, or the recently mated. Age is a relative thing in wolf packs, childhood versus maturity, free rein versus responsibility, not the arbitrary markers of human years that poorly expressed wolf-kind’s life, particularly since the wolf half matures faster than the human half._

_Still, even if her body is developed, this girl is young by human standards, though by wolf ones she’s matured—she’s bleeding even now. She thrusts her breasts out, so firm and pert she doesn’t even need a bra yet, and stares at Peter, hungry and a little desperate._

_And Peter . . . Peter flirts with her and her friends. It’s what he does, what he always does.  Girls, boys, doesn’t matter. They always fall all over themselves for Peter. He told Derek once that he was too good looking to get in trouble and Derek knows he’s right. Peter **is** that good looking, but more than that, he has charm—Derek’s mom calls it charisma—that people love.  Peter is witty and sarcastic. He knows how to compliment and reel people in—girls, boys, teachers, and the guy at the liquor store who sells beer to him even though he’s underage. Gods help you if you get on his bad side, but Peter understands the power of his sexuality and his looks and he wields them like a weapon._

_Derek’s wolf may be maturing, but his human mind still doesn’t understand everything Peter does, especially why Peter keeps messing around with so many different people. Wolves are usually monogamous, at least until one of them dies, but Peter often reeks of sex with different partners, and it makes Derek’s nose itch. He also doesn’t understand why Peter sometimes smells like hurt and want, but Peter won’t talk to him about it and Derek doesn’t want to pry, because he doesn’t want Peter to get sick of him. He likes to hang out with his uncle.  It’s much more fun than staying home with his parents, even if he has to watch him talk to this stupid girl and her stupid friends._

_The girl is laughing at some joke Peter’s made, but Derek can smell Peter’s irritation alongside her want. She’s pretty, Derek thinks. Her hair is shiny and thick, brown shot through with highlights from the summer sun. Her hazel eyes are filled with desire as she looks at Peter, a gaze that isn’t as innocent as her friend’s. Her lips are slick with gloss, and her teeth flash white as she darts out her tongue to lick at the sticky, bubble gum scented gunk that Derek can smell all the way to the car._

_He doesn’t know how Peter can stand it._

_She’ll probably be beautiful one day, but Derek isn’t all that interested. There’s something a little hard and brittle about her. She’ll shatter like spun sugar some day. Derek doesn’t really care; he’s had enough and is getting bored._

_“Peter, let’s go.  Mom’s waiting.”_

_Peter laughs and rolls his eyes. “Mom’s waiting,” he mimics, and the girl and her friends laugh._

_When Peter gets into the car, tossing the bag of groceries into the backseat, Derek’s pissed. “You didn’t have to be a jerk about it.”_

_Peter laughs. “Christ, Derek, lighten up. I’m just playing the part. I wondered how long I was going to have to wait for you to bail me out. You can be pretty stupid sometimes, you know that?”_

_“Bail you out? You were flirting with her!”_

_“Jealous?” Peter says with another laugh._

_“Eeeww.” Derek retreats to his default setting: morose, par for the course for young werewolves whose bodies are childlike but whose wolves are the equivalent of angst-ridden teenagers. He crosses his arms and looks out the window, refusing to meet Peter’s gaze._

_“Do you really think I’m interested in her, Derek? Jesus, she’s just a kid.”_

_Derek shifts in his seat. “Duh, you flirt with anything that moves.” He thinks, but doesn’t say,_ and you mount it too _._

_Peter scoffs. “It’s called fitting in. You should try it some time.”_

_Derek feels his eyes flash gold. “I do try! But it’s . . . it’s hard.” He’s still learning to control his wolf when he gets upset, especially in public and at school._

_Peter ruffles his hair. “You’ll get the hang of it, kiddo.”_

_“Whatever,” Derek bites out, and slouches down in his seat. He hates being called ‘kiddo.’_

_“She’s a human anyway, and not pack,” Peter says with a sneer._

_Later, Derek would find it ironic that Peter married a human._

**************************

“Peter, Allison isn’t Kate,” Chris says, his tone placating.

“And my wife wasn’t a werewolf,” Peter spits back. “I’m feeling rather Old Testament right now, an eye for an eye and all that.”

“Allison has done nothing to you!”

“And my family did nothing to yours! What happened to your vaunted code?  Only hunt those who harm humans? We did _nothing_ and your family tried to wipe us out. Well, now it’s our turn.  Allison, then Gerard, then you. Or, shall I make him watch you die first?”

Chris scoffs. “He’d probably cheer you on.”

“Don’t!” Peter shouts, and his grip on Allison tightens until she’s clawing at his wrist. He relents just enough for her to breathe. “Don’t you dare try to make me your friend. Not now.”

“No, we never could just be friends, could we, Peter?”

There’s something in his tone. It’s sly and hints of secrets.

“Daddy?” Allison asks. She’s not stupid, never has been. Cruel at times, emotional and unthinking, but never stupid. So very like her mother.

Peter’s laughter is as cruel as she’s ever been. “Do you really want to bring that up now?”

Chris looks him in the eyes. “No, not really.”

“Oh c’mon, Chris. Tell poor Allison just how well you understand her fascination with Scott. I wonder, do you think it’s a family trait?”

Chris’s eyes close and he shakes his head. “I was young,” he tells her. “ _We_ were young.” His eyes lift to Peter’s.

“Yes, and you let Gerard tell you just what to do, didn’t you Chris?”

“Dad?”

Chris ignores his daughter. “What was I supposed to do, Peter?”

Peter growls. “It doesn’t matter. You let Gerard mould you. Let him mould Kate into the indiscriminate killer she became.”

“He’s my father!”

“And you were what? The good little soldier? No moral questions? Just following orders? Was Kate following his orders that day? Were—” Peter scents the air and smiles, predatory. “Hello, Derek. Stiles.”

“Peter, let her go.”

“You’re not an alpha anymore, Derek.” Peter’s tone is mocking, then he tilts his head. “Not that your orders ever held much weight with me.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Derek sounds so earnest, and it turns Peter’s stomach that Derek is trying to protect Argents.

“Don’t I? You never did. You never sought retribution for what happened to us, for what _they_ did!”

Stiles’ hand reaches into his pocket and he tries to text Scott.

Peter’s turns to Stiles and his grip on Allison tightens. “Don’t even think about it, Stiles. Toss the phone here.” The sound of her cut off breath stays Stiles’ hand.

“Or what? You’ll rip my throat out with your teeth?” 

Stiles sees Derek wince at the phrase, but Peter just laughs, and seconds later thin streams of blood are running down Allison’s neck as his claws just nick the skin. Allison makes a small sound of distress, and Stiles can see that she’s drawing on all of her training not to succumb to hysteria.

“No, I’ll tear out hers.”

****************************

_Derek hates this party. It’s too loud and smells like too many humans packed into one space. He doesn’t know why Peter brought him here. He’s too young to be here. His mom is going to be pissed._

_“Peter, you’re supposed to be babysitting me, not taking me to a party! You’re gonna be in so much trouble.”_

_Peter claps him on the shoulder. “Lighten up, oh nephew mine.”_

_Derek smells the alkaloid scent on Peter’s breath. He hisses, “Aconite wine? Really?”_

_“It’s not like I can get drunk at a party the usual way,” Peter replies._

_Ayurvedic processed aconite has been used in medicines for centuries, with the fun little side effect of helping werewolves get drunk. Of course, finding properly processed aconite is rare, and even rarer is werewolf-made aconite wine._

_“Mom is going to kill you.”_

_“The alpha doesn’t need to know.”_

_Derek snorts. “She’ll know. She always knows. I never get away with anything.”_

_“That, dear nephew, is why you have me.” He slings his arm over Derek’s shoulders. “Who else is going to teach you to misbehave? Laura?”_

_Derek smiles. Laura is an alpha in training. She’s almost as bad as their mother._

_“Now, I’m going to go mingle. Maybe get laid. Why don’t you go sit over there?” Peter points to a loveseat in the corner. And with those words he glides into the crowd, a come-hither smile on his face and hips that move with sinuous grace. It’s a matter of moments before he’s surrounded by pretty people._

_Derek tries to be patient, to sit quietly and read his book, but he really isn’t good at this, and after two girls hand him their purses and then pinch his cheek, he’s had enough. He tries to find Peter to say goodbye, but doesn’t see him. Maybe if he had found him, he would see the girl slip something into Peter’s wine. Maybe he would drag him home, listening to him berate Derek all the way for ruining his good time._

_But Derek doesn’t find him and he goes home alone. He sneaks in, hoping to keep Peter out of trouble. It’s a vain hope._

_In the morning, Peter wakes up in a strange bed with the smell of human and sex and blood clinging to his skin. The girl, the one from the store, is lying next to him._

_He has a moment of panic over Derek, before he feels him through the pack bond, safe and unharmed._

_“Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers and slips from the bed, trying not to wake her. He bends down to look for his pants._

_“Peter? Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” she asks. She sits up, letting the sheets pool about her naked waist. In the morning light she looks even younger than he remembers._

_“I have to get home. My a—my sister is going to kill me.”_

_“But I’ll see you again, right? I mean, now that . . . you’ll call me, right?”_

_Peter gapes at her. “I don’t even know your fucking name. And fuck, how old are you?”_

_She stiffens and pulls the sheets up to her neck. “Katherine, but my family calls me Kate. You . . .” her lip wobbles for a moment before her spine stiffens, “you told me Katherine was prettier, more elegant.”_

_Peter sighs because yeah, that sounds exactly like something he’d say, even if he can’t remember saying it._

_“Listen Kate, Katherine, whatever you’re called.  I don’t remember anything from last night, okay?”_

_“You said I was beautiful. You said you wanted—“_

_Peter cuts her off when she stands and he sees the blood on the sheet. “You’re bleeding.”  He has a very bad feeling._

_“You said that was normal for the first time.”_

_He thinks he’s going to be sick. “First time? Jesus. Oh fuck. Kate . . . Katherine,” he says after she grimaces, “just how old are you?”_

_She stands tall and thrusts out her chin. “Thirteen.”_

_“Christ. I’m so fucked. I’m so very, very fucked.” He’s grabbing his things, panicking. “Listen, I wasn’t myself last night, okay? Someone put something in my drink or this never would have happened.”_

_“You don’t like me?”_

_“Jesus, Kate! I don’t even know you! And I don’t remember **anything** from last night and that scares the shit out of me, okay? I could get in a lot of trouble now. I’m eighteen and you’re underage and no one is going to believe me. There’s no way they can do a blood test.” He’s terrified now.  _

_He knows he’s fucked. He can’t go to a regular doctor, or a regular hospital. Can’t demand that they test him for the usual date rape drugs. Can’t tell them, “Hey, I’m a werewolf so why don’t you look for some aconite.”_

_Talia is going to skin him alive._

_“It shouldn’t have done that,” Kate mutters. “It was just a small dose . . .” She’s shaking her head, brows creased in thought._

_Peter stills. “What did you just say?”_

_She looks up at him, eyes blazing. “The aconite, it shouldn’t have made you black out or caused memory loss.”_

_“Who are you?” he asks, unsheathing his claws at the same time._

_Her voice shakes now, the fire in her eyes dimmed with fear as she looks at his claws. “I told you, Kate. Kate Argent.”_

_“An Argent?” he hisses. “Did your brother put you up to this?” His hand is around her throat before he’s finished asking the question._

_“Please!” she cries. “I’m not . . . I’m not a hunter. Not like my dad or my brother, okay? I just . . . I know about werewolves and stuff.”_

_Peter hears her heartbeat and knows she’s not lying, at least not about being a hunter. Not yet.  He relaxes his grip on her throat. “What are you playing at, little girl?”_

_“I love you!” she declares, with all the honest naiveté of a thirteen year old girl with her first crush._

_“You love me?” he asks incredulous. “I’ve seen you like twice in my life. Christ, you’re such a child.”_

_“Don’t! Don’t call me a child! I knew you thought I was too young, so I . . . I took some of my dad’s aconite and . . . I didn’t mean to give you too much. I just wanted you to give us a chance.   I knew if you saw how we could be together you wouldn’t fight it, and wolves are possessive.  If you had me, you wouldn’t want to let me go.”_

_She’s crying now, and Peter is sick to his stomach. She laced his already spiked wine. No wonder he doesn’t remember anything._

_“Well, you’re wrong. Trust me. We do let people go whether we want to or not, and I most certainly don’t want you. You’re insane, you know that? I’m a werewolf. You’re from a hunter family. Trust me when I tell you, I already know that will never work.” He lets her go and backs away. “Go home, Kate. Go home and forget this ever happened. And don’t you dare tell your father, or I’ll make sure he knows how you whored yourself to a wolf. How do you think he’ll take that?”_

_He leaves her there, in the strange room that smells like disgust and anger and hurt, leaves her to her tears. He shifts and he runs. He runs as fast as he can, as far from any humans as he can.  He finds a stream and bathes; he swims and soaks in it until he’s sure the scent of Argent is gone from his skin._

_Then, he goes home to face Talia’s wrath for being gone all night without a word. He goes home praying to all the gods that Kate has done the same, and is keeping her mouth shut. He can’t begin to imagine the fallout if she breathes a word of this to anyone._

****************************

“You’re going to kill them anyway.”

“Stiles!” both Derek and Chris shout.

“What?” He rounds on them. “It’s true.”

Peter laughs. “Oh Stiles, this is why I’ve always liked you. Why I offered you the Bite. You’d make a brilliant wolf.”

“He offered you the Bite?” Derek’s seething.

“Focus, wolf-boy. This isn’t the time.”

“No, it’s not,” Peter interrupts. “I’ll make you a deal, Stiles. You toss the phone here and I’ll consider letting Allison live. Then you won’t have to explain to your best friend how you could have saved his lady love, but failed.”

Stiles tosses his phone.

“Now, where was I? Oh yes, Gerard. Did he order Kate to burn us? How did he find out where we all were?”

“I don’t know,” Chris replies. 

Peter’s claws dig a little deeper. Allison can’t hold back her pained whimper this time and everyone shouts at Peter to stop.

“I don’t know! I swear it, Peter, please. Listen to my heart. I. Don’t. Know. I don’t think it was Gerard, although he was happy enough with the results. I think Kate did it on her own.”

“He’s telling the truth, Peter. He doesn’t know. It wasn’t Gerard anyway.” Derek’s face is anguished, and he takes a step toward his uncle.

Stiles grabs for him.  “Derek, don’t—”

“Don’t what? Tell the truth? It was me. _I_ gave Kate the information she needed. I was stupid and thought I was in love. I didn’t know who she was.” Derek snorts, a mirthless sound. “You’re not the only one who’s killed family, Peter. They’re all dead because of me. If you need revenge? If you want someone to kill? Kill me.” He gestures at Allison, “Not her.”

“Oh my god! Would you just stop being a martyr for five minutes?” Stiles yells at him.

Peter shudders and then shakes his head. “I guess it _is_ a family trait, Chris.”

“Peter, please let her go. She doesn’t deserve this. None of us deserve any of this. I’ve lost brothers, I . . . I helped my wife push the knife into her own heart -and held her as she died. We’ve _all_ suffered, Peter. All of us. Don’t add to it.”

“But I can put a stop to it. I can stop her, stop you, from hurting any more of us. Stop her from breaking Scott’s heart—”

“If you kill her, you’ll be the one breaking Scott’s heart,” Stiles reasons. “If you kill her, Scott will kill you.”

“Scott isn’t a killer, Stiles. That’s why he has you. Like I said, you would have made a great wolf,” Peter replies.

“Peter,” Derek interrupts. “If you kill her, we’ll have no reason not to take you down.” He shifts into his beta form.

“Oh Derek, I liked you so much better as a child.” He moves his claw to slash.

And Chris screams. “Peter, don’t! She’s your daughter!”

Stiles’ voice is loud when it cuts through the ensuing silence, and the air is thick with the scent of surprise and disbelief. “What. The. Fuck?” 

Allison’s shoulder is bleeding where Peter couldn’t retract his hand fast enough, but it isn’t a deep or dangerous wound.

“What are you talking about?” Peter growls.

 “She’s yours. Yours and Kate’s,” Chris says.

“Daddy? What? What are you saying? Stop it!” Allison cries, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.

“You’re lying!”

“Peter, it’s . . . smell her. I always thought she smelled like Pack because of Scott, but . . . god, her blood . . . she smells like you.” Derek sounds wrecked.

Chris looks as devastated as Derek sounds. “She was so young, Peter. Thirteen is too young to be a mom, and Victoria and I had just gotten married.”

“Thirteen?” Stiles interjects. “Thirteen!  Jesus, Peter, you’re even more disg—”

“Kate, Peter?” Derek looks as bad as Chris. Stiles can see every moment of blame and self-doubt since the fire plays across his face.

Allison tumbles from Peter’s grip as he steps back. “I didn’t know. I didn’t—”

“I know,” Chris says. “It’s why I didn’t come after you then. I wanted to kill you, at first; thought you did it to get back at me. When Kate found me packing, she told me the truth: that she drugged you and how you freaked out the next morning. She begged me not to go after you. Even then she thought she was still in love with you, that you’d come for her. I don’t think she understood until Gerard put Allison in Victoria’s arms.”

“Christ, even then she used sex as a weapon. What the fuck did your father teach you people?” Derek asks. “And you . . . god, you knew exactly why she came after us, and you’ve never said a word. Do you know how long I asked myself ‘why?’ Why us? Why my family? Why me?” His voice breaks on the last and he falls silent.

Stiles is holding Allison, cradling her as they both listen in stunned silence. He’s taken off one of his shirts and is pressing it to her shoulder. Derek kneels beside them, using his claws to slice off the cuffs.

Peter stares at Chris. “You still got your revenge, didn’t you? Kept me from my daughter, my child!” he yells.

“She was also an Argent. She was where she belonged.”

Allison shakes her head. “It can’t be. Daddy, I’m too old to be Kate’s daughter.”

Shifting his gaze to her, Chris’s face softens. “You’re not. You’re a year and a half younger than you think.” He sighs. “You grew faster than other kids. We moved a lot to help hide it, but eventually you had to start school. We doctored your birth certificate, not only to show Victoria and me as your birth parents, but changing your age.” 

“You guys are like a bad novel, you know that?” Stiles remarks. 

“It happens with human children born to wolves,” Derek says. “Mom thought it was so that they could hold their own a little better against the wolf children when they first manifest.”

“You should have brought her to us,” Peter tells him. “You had no right to keep her from me.”

“You taught me to kill them,” Allison hurls at her father. “You taught me to fear them. Hate them. How could you?”

“I taught you to live by the Code!”

“Fuck the Code,” she tells him. “I nearly killed my friends because of you, and my . . . Kate, and Gerard! And now you tell me that, what? They’re my family?”

“Allison,” Peter interjects. “I—”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare. You’re no better than they are. What about Laura? And Lydia?” she snarls. “Stiles, get me out of here. Please.”

Stiles nods, and he and Derek both help her to her feet. She flinches slightly from Derek’s touch and he winces before his face closes off, adopting the emotionless, stoic façade that he’s perfected over the years. 

“It’s okay, I got her. You . . .” He tilts his chin at the room. “You’ve got your hands full here.”

None of them say a word as Allison limps out, leaning heavily on Stiles. They hear him tell her that they'll go to Melissa. No one moves until they hear the car start and the crunch of gravel under the tires. Derek cuts Chris loose, but the man just pulls his legs up, resting his arms on bent knees, head drooping. He looks gutted, and Derek can only imagine how he feels. He’s reeling, and has no idea how to take the news. He turns to Peter.

Peter is staring at Chris. “And they say I’m the monster. I’ll never hurt her. You have my word on that.”

“And me?” Chris asks.

“I can’t promise the same for Gerard. He is still alive, isn’t he?” Peter continues, ignoring Chris.

“Peter, let’s go.”

He shrugs Derek’s hand from his shoulder. “Don’t patronize me, Derek.”

“What about me?” Chris asks again.

Peter shakes his head. 

“She’ll hate you if you kill him,” Derek says.

“She hates me anyway.”

“If it’s any consolation, she hates me now too,” Chris interjects.

“We all hate you,” Derek says, and Peter laughs.

“ _Now_ you get a sense of humor?” He turns back to Chris. “As much as it pains me to say it, Derek’s right. She’ll never forgive me if I kill you. I do understand love. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Peter regards him for a moment before he shifts and runs.

Derek watches him until he’s out of eyesight, then turns back to Chris. “I’ll drive you back to town.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Chris asks, wary.

Derek shrugs. “You’re her dad, Chris. You raised her, loved her, for better or for worse. Your sister nearly destroyed us all, but now we have a little piece of family back. Stiles would say it’s a dysfunctional, Jerry Springer-like family, but still family, and to us, that’s everything.”

He knows it’s going to be ugly for a while. Peter is unpredictable, and Allison is volatile in her own right—with Peter, Kate, Chris, and Victoria as parents, that’s no surprise. Derek isn’t sure how it’ll all turn out, and he has no idea how Scott is going to react, but he realizes he’s tired. Tired of the fighting and maneuvering. Tired of the weight of guilt he’s carried around for the last eight years, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can finally start to let it go.

***************************

A few miles away, Peter perches on a roof. It’s cold up there, but he ignores it. He watches Melissa tend to Allison. He watches as Stiles tries to talk a seething Scott out of going after Peter. He continues to watch, even after Melissa and Stiles leave the room. Watches as Scott gathers Allison in his arms and consoles her, and feels a strange sort of envy that it’s this boy who gets to comfort her and not him.

 _Daughter_.

He rolls the word on his tongue, tastes it and feels it sink into his bones. He marvels at the twists and turns, the strange mutations of fate and repetitions of history that led him, led them all, to this moment. He hated Kate with every fiber of his being from the night of the fire until the instant he tore out her throat, but here, at this moment, he thinks that maybe he can spare a sliver of pity for the scheming thirteen year old girl who gave him this gift.

**Author's Note:**

> Kate has underage non-consensual sex with Peter after slipping him drugs, because he is drugged he cannot consent. Peter is 18. Kate is 13.


End file.
